Madam President
by Eternal Density
Summary: Why would the president be personally calling International Rescue? A look from a new angle.
1. Chapter 1

Madam President

Chapter One – Sue 'er?

Harriet Blaze - better known to the world as Haze - slipped her cell-phone back into the tiny pocket of her short white dress. She suddenly realised how conspicuous her attire appeared, and was again glad that she'd found hiding indoors. An unlocked and unguarded warehouse was a major blessing, no matter how much dirt and grime adorned the slab floor.

At least it wasn't quite abandoned. If that had been the case, there wouldn't be a row of worn blue overalls hanging on pegs. Haze ran to the far wall and selected the least ill-fitting pair that wasn't too oily. She decided it would be best to wear it over her own clothes, mostly because she didn't want to leave them to be spotted.

A hardhat over her silky black hair completed the illusion. She no longer looked like an internationally known pop princess. However, she didn't feel much safer. Any moment could bring a rush of armed guards, and who knew whose side they would be on? Likely not hers. Not that she really had her own side.

Her train of despondent thoughts was promptly derailed by her phone ringing. That is, it warbled the tune of her own rendition of Star Spangled Banner. She snatched it out of her pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and answered, "H-Haze here."

Her eyes lit up with hope as the caller filled her in on her situation. "There's a hidden way out, you say? Underground? Oh, you mean the sewer! Eww, if you think for a moment that I'm going to... Fine, if there's no other way, I'll do it. Actually, I've found some overalls, and there might be boots to go with this helmet. First right, then first left, about a block total, got it. The batteries out? If you say so. Goodbye, and thanks a million!"

After ending the call, Haze, pulled the battery out of her phone, just to be certain no one could track her by it. Then she pulled a digital organiser out of her other pocket. It had belonged to her husband, until a scarce few minutes ago. She removed its batteries too, not that it would make much difference, what with the chunk missing from one corner.

Racing unseen enemies, the young woman replaced her silver heels with steel-caps and made her way to the location of a sewer grating. She struggled against rust, succeeded, faltered for a moment, and finally dropped down inside. Feeling much safer already – despite the continuing pain from what must be a huge bruise on her chest – she headed north towards the designated exit point.

Elsewhere, the middle-aged Duncan Merry rearranged barrels and crates with his trusty forklift. Everything had to be just so, or it wouldn't work. His wife Norma looked on and gave advice. She knew as much about the different types of fuel and chemicals as he, having worked alongside him for over ten years.

It would be a shame to see their business go up in smoke, but sacrifices had to be made. Stock and property could easily be replaced. A human life could not. Norma checked her watch and headed for a drain cover. Their guest should be arriving soon.

Haze struggled back up to floor level and looked over her hosts. Seemed pleasant enough. "Uh, I'm Harriet. I've been told you can get me out of trouble."

The couple nodded. 'We're Duncan and Norma Merry. We're sorry you can't stay for long, but it's about to get a bit hot in here."

"Hot?"

"Toasty, roasty, high temperature, crispy, burning, frying," Duncan listed.

"Give her a break, dear." Norma turned towards the visitor and explained, "We're burning these barrels as a sort of pretext. It'll make a lot of smoke, and eventually the whole place will catch alight and burn to the ground."

"We should be gone by then," Duncan added.

The young woman shuddered. "I should certainly hope so. When do we start?"

"How about you two ladies get well clear first. No point in all rushing up the stairs at the same time. We'll trip and break our necks."

Haze and Norma agreed and started trudging upstairs. Duncan caught up a minute later. "It's all in motion now. Can you hear the flames yet?"

Haze listened carefully for the roar of the flames, but her mind kept turning the sound into the recent applause of her audience. It was hard to believe that under an hour ago, she was singing at City Hall, naively hoping all would go well for her if she simply did whatever she was told...

Author's Note:

Wondering what on earth this has to do with anything? Don't worry: in this case, '…' means Flashback Mode is on its way. Soon.


	2. Flak Bash

Chapter Two – Flak Bash

_Flashback_

"... braaave, braaaaave! Oh yeah, the home, home of the brave! Wooo!" Haze jumped through a 720 degree twirl and landed to grin at her audience. She walked off the stage waving and smiling at her clapping and cheering public. Her husband, Craig Yarworth, followed closely behind in his well-pressed suit. They made their way into the cooler air outside the back of the Coos Bay City Hall.

"Beautiful singing as always, my dear," Craig remarked with a plastic smile.

"Well that's what the people love me for," the singer replied.

"Yes, such a powerful voice. That's the reason I chose you: people will accept anything spoken so beautifully, without really thinking. As I always say, the less people truly understand about a political speech, the better." He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. "You did an excellent job of sounding like you knew what you were saying," he added derisively.

"Hmph. It's not as if I don't know what the individual words mean. I'm not stupid."

"Of course not, my dear," he responded with the usual sinister glint in his eyes.

Haze looked around, realizing something was wrong. "For instance, where's the limo?"

A jolt of fear shook Mr Yarworth. "Never mind the limo, where's the flock of Secret Service agents who should be guarding us?" Puzzled, surprised, and wanting answers, the man reached for his organiser to make an urgent call. He succeeded in removing it from his pocket before the top right corner disintegrated, along with his pointer finger. He stared at the damage, and then at the sniper barely visible on a distant roof. The clap of a silenced gunshot drifted past, but didn't register in his shocked brain. "No… It's all over…" he muttered. Haze looked on in a shocked trance. A second shot sent her husband to the ground with a huge hole in his head. She watched as he fell, in seeming slow motion. She felt no loss, just surprise, and even some sense of satisfaction.

"Ooof!" She found herself thrown against the painted steel wall of the building behind. Something had kicked her in the chest. Hard. Something like a horse. Or a bullet. Well the sniper wasn't launching horses, so it had to be a bullet. Although it meant that her clothes had to completely cover her abdomen, there was something to be said for wearing a flak jacket to events. Haze's first thought was that her blouse was ruined. Her second was that the damage wouldn't matter if she was dead. Her third thought was that if she stuck around, she'd be dead quite soon.

She ran. Or she attempted to run. Running with the wind knocked out of you is never easy, and having a bullet stopped close to your chest doesn't help matters. A fourth thought passed through her mind: with the technology of a few years ago, she'd likely already be dead. She searched for cover as she hobbled along and spied a door. Thinking quickly, she ran past while yanking the handle down. Then she unexpectedly changed direction to leap inside. She'd seen it in a movie once, and figured it should reduce the chance of being shot in the doorway. Not that there had been any further shots, or any activity for that matter.

Deeming it about time to catch her breath, she parked herself in an uncomfortable heap in the middle of the concrete floor. Fortunately there were no since of animal life. _Well, this was unexpected. I figure I'd better call my bodyguards to tell them where I am. No, I've had enough of guards. They can join Craig for all I care._ Deciding she'd rather deal with the police, she groped for her phone. Unexpectedly, she retrieved two devices from her pocket. _Must've picked up his organiser when I ran. I don't remember that. Yuck, it's got blood on it. Better ignore that for now._

She opened the flip-phone and poised her fingers over the 9 and 1 keys. But then a wave of distrust swept through her mind. No, there had to be someone else she could call, someone she could trust to truly save her from the mess her life had become.

The obvious answer popped into her mind, and she began to dial. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Call connecting…

Author's Note:  
No prizes for guessing who that phone number calls.  
And yes, italics does mean thoughts. Also, this is a work of fiction, so any resemblance between entities described or mentioned, and what they are actually like in reality, are purely coincidental, as they say. Oh and in case you wondered, I don't actually own Thunderbirds. Not that I actually mentioned them until just now.


	3. Winch Way?

Chapter Three – Winch Way?

"Hey, Harriet, now's not the time for daydreaming!"

"Huh? Oh…" Haze realised that she had been running up stairs without really paying attention to what was happening. "Why can't we just take an elevator?"

"Elevator? With a fire burning downstairs?" Mrs Merry questioned in return as she ducked past a spraying sprinkler.

"Oh, of course." Haze was almost tempted to complain about the pain, but she realised it would be rude since these people were burning down their building to help her. Not exactly a tactful time to complain about bruises.

"We're nearly to the top," Duncan explained from behind the ladies. "But we don't want to be seen, and we need a good rescue excuse, so we'll stay in the stairwell and pretend to be trapped. I'll put in a call to International Rescue, and they'll be here shortly to pick us up."

"But I already called them!" Haze protested.

"That you did, but I'm going to call by radio. Anyone can listen in, and they'll hear that there's two people trapped in the top of a burning building. Your call earlier was encrypted and such, like all cell calls, so no one can listen in on that. Thus if anyone wonders why the Thunderbirds are here, there'll be an obvious and easily available answer, which means no one will be looking for the real reason."

"Clever."

"Whew, here's the top."

"I think I'd better make the call, Duncan, since you're puffed out from running and talking at the same time."

Duncan nodded to his wife and sat, breathing heavily.

After finding a clear frequency, Norma began broadcasting. "Calling International Rescue. ... Calling International Rescue. ... Hello? ... I'm Norma Merry and I'm trapped with my husband on the top floor of our fuel testing facility in... oh, you've already calculated our position? ... The building is on fire and we can't get to the roof. ... No, the windows are unbreakable. ... It is burning slowly at the moment and has stayed on the ground floor, but I don't know how long before it rises. ... Yes, the smoke can't get to us. ... You're already nearby? ... That's a relief. ... My husband says it should be easy for you to cut through the door. ... See you soon and thankyou!"

"Well done, dear," Duncan applauded.

Haze asked the question that had been bothering her for several minutes. "Why don't the sprinklers put the fire out?"

Duncan was happy to explain. "They don't work very well, and they aren't very effective against the sorts of fuel I'm burning. The fire department will dampen it a bit, but not until they actually get into the building."

"Do you do this sort of work for International Rescue often?" Haze asked.

Duncan shook his head. "Some IR agents are quite active, but others, including my wife and I, mostly provide local information and observation, which is sometimes needed. But everyone is willing to do their part for the Thunderbirds, or for the safety of our nation's leaders."

"Leaders?"

"If you think I can't recognise your face and voice from the vidcast of your conference/performance under an hour ago, you've got another think coming, young lady!"

Haze colored slightly and nodded. "Oh, of course. But I really shouldn't talk about it. It could endanger you."

"We're sitting in a burning building, but point taken," Norma replied with a chuckle.

Haze smiled. "It's nice to be treated like a normal human for a change. Being both 'very famous' and 'very important' makes people treat me like some sort of... an ancient statue in a museum, I think," she explained, making quote marks in the air with her fingers.

"You're welcome," was all Duncan replied.

"And then there's the people who see me as a means to power..." Haze shuddered as memories surfaced unbidden.

"Never mind that now; I can here something outside. And you know what that means..." Norma began.

"Evacuation time!" Duncan finished.

_Meanwhile..._

"Are we close enough yet?" Alan asked with slight impatience.

Scott, sitting in the seat beside his youngest brother, checked their location and the time. "Yep, it's time to call in to the fire crew and give them the heads up."

His younger brother nodded. "Opening comm." Alan found and entered the frequency for the fire chief. "Ready."

"Fire chief, this is Thunderbird 1. Calling fire chief," Scott announced, his voice businesslike.

"Thunderbird 1, this is fire chief... er, Chief Bate. What can I do for you?" a well-mannered voice replied.

"We were called in by a couple trapped in the top of the MFT building, and we happened to be test-flying over this part of the Pacific, so we came right over to help."

"Merry Fuel Testing? We had some calls from people who spotted smoke, but I didn't know anyone was in there. My crew is trying to extinguish that place as we speak, but no result yet. We can't get at the base of the fire, since it's inside and we haven't been able to breach the structure. It's too solid."

"I'll be flying over in a couple minutes to scope it out, and the guys with the gear will be here shortly to cut them out and lift them down," Scott outlined.

"Try to keep out of the way: there's a bunch of government-looking people running around with guns. I don't know what they're after - there's no official word - but you don't want to get mixed up in it."

"Duly noted. Give me a shout if you here anything new."

"Will do. And thanks in advance for your help. The way the fire has spread around the base of the building would make a ladder very difficult, especially at that height. A chopper might work, but with the wind we have today, it would be tough flying."

"You're welcome: it's what we do. May I suggest you return your attention to your duty?" Scott suggested.

"Good idea, International Rescue. I'll do that."

Alan cut the connection. "That guy sure had plenty to say," he observed wryly.

"A real talker," Scott agreed. "But he told us what we needed, so there's no harm done." They began to approach their burning target so Scott began making final mission preparations. "We're nearly at MFT, so you better get yourself harnessed."

Alan proceeded in attaching himself to a winch line. "Let's go over this again. You hover perfectly still over the building, right? I go down on the cable to 'inspect the building', Agent 72 sets off lots of smoke, I grab this unknown 'witness' lady and we all make like trees and leave."

"That's what we've been told," Scott confirmed, wishing he knew more. "I hope Dad explains this later. Now get your smoke mask on and have one ready for your passenger. The president wouldn't like her witness breathing any of that." The young man gestured at the thick smoke pouring from the building.

A fair amount of scrabbling and fiddling occurred in the back of the rocket-plane. "Protective gear ready," Alan announced presently.

Scott maneuvered Thunderbird 1 low over the blazing building. "Ready for lowering?"

"...Yeah, lower away." Alan looked obviously nervous about his task.

"You'll be fine," Scott encouraged as he pressed the appropriate button.

"Opening hatch," announced the computer.

Alan watched as a square hole gaped open in the floor. He looked down and saw the top of the building not very far below him. "Climbing through," Alan stated as he did so. "Ready for winch."

Under Scott's control, the winch cable tightened so Alan could let go of the support rail without dropping. Then the winch reversed and began lowering Alan into the danger zone.

_Meanwhile..._

"If she's not in here, and she hasn't left, then where is she?" asked a shadowy figure from the mostly empty warehouse.

"Epsilon said she ran in here as soon as Yarworth fell. She's **got** to be in there somewhere," an exasperated voice radioed back.

"This was never the plan..."

"We didn't expect Haze to take his organiser! Hurry up and retrieve it, or this whole exercise will be..."

"I get the picture, Delta. Now let me... wait, there's a grate here that looks disturbed. It goes into the sewer."

"The sewer?! She could be anywhere by now! We'll need to extend our search. And fast. We only have half an hour, or less if... uh oh."

"What?"

"Hang on, I'm picking up another transmission. It's International Rescue! They're rescuing a couple trapped in that building that started building." Delta sounded panicked.

"You don't think... **she**'s in there?"

"They're just checking out the damage now, but I'll get Phi and Omega to keep a lookout. You try tracking her through the sewer."

"But..."

"Move!"

AN:Why did I think that smack in the middle of assignments and exams would be a good time to start another fic?  
Many thanks to Ms Hobgoblin and "Thunderbirds Questionsnet ()" for the reviews. I hope my readers haven't become too impatient at my gradual scene-setting start...


	4. Pick Up and Pack Up

Chapter Four – Pick up and Pack Up

Duncan Merry listened carefully to the sound of Thunderbird 1. "They're getting close. You ready?"

Haze stood ready at the exit to the roof. "Yes," was all she said. Duncan took a remote control device from his belt and began pressing numbered buttons.

"Open the door slightly, so we can see what's happening," Norma suggested.

Haze nudged the door to make the tiniest crack to look out through. "They're winching a man down. He's touched the ground!" She noticed a distant roar over the sound of the hovering Thunderbird One. "Something else is approaching.

"Brace yourselves," Duncan warned as he pressed the final button. A number of small detonations rattled the building and thick smoke tumbled out of punched-open windows. "Give it a couple of seconds," he advised as the oncoming roar drew closer.

Haze waited and held the doorhandle until she heard Duncan say, "Now." She threw the door open and ran a few steps to her rescuer. He held something out to her, gesturing at the mask on his face with the other hand. As she put it over her face, he clipped a harness around her body. Before she had a chance to breathe again, the winch was taking them into the sky.

The roar became thunderous, and she turned her head in time to see a red streak flash past. A moment later, she was being pulled into the underside of Thunderbird 1.

"Omega, what's happening up there?" the voice of Delta asked.

The figure known as Omega guiltily tore his eyes away from the retreating form of Thunderbird 3, which had monopolised his recent attention. "Uh, there's lots more smoke and... they pulled their man back up and have moved away."

"Hold on, there's another transmission," Delta cut in.

"Thunderbird 1 to Fire Chief Bate. We've had to retreat for now, but we have enough recon to get our other guys in to the trapped couple. Do you copy?"

"Sure do. How long will they be?"

"ETA two minutes," Scott answered.

"None too soon. Since that second detonation, the fire's been climbing faster. Wouldn't want to be in there much longer than five minutes myself."

"True enough. I'll let you concentrate on putting out the fire."

"Alrighty."

Scott closed the comm channel. "Alan, how's it going back there?"

"Stowing the harnesses and masks. There, all done," Alan answered.

"Did you get a helmet for our guest?" Scott checked, not wanting to be responsible for any injuries.

"First thing I did. She had a hard hat, so I stowed it in a locker."

"Good work. Seat yourselves now so we're ready to leave."

"FAB." Alan helped Haze into a back seat and returned to his place beside Scott.

"Thunderbird 1 calling Thunderbird 2. 1 calling 2, I see you approaching," Scott called as his passengers strapped in.

"2 to 1, we see your position. Gordon's ready to perform retrieval of agents 72 and 73," Virgil answered. "Please clear danger zone."

"FAB, clearing now. See you back at base."

"Save some food for us!" Gordon answered with a laugh.

"If there's any left for us," Alan added.

"Enough chat, guys. We're out of here!"

"Commencing gradual acceleration," the computer announced. Thunderbird smoothly began to move for the ocean.

_Meanwhile, closer to Tracy Island..._

"That third engine is definitely working 100 percent," John observed as Three rocketed home.

"Brains fixed her up good," Jeff agreed. "As for you..."

"I'm fine, Dad," the recently injured blond replied.

"Compared to Thunderbird 5, yes. But you're still in recovery. Even with Brains to fix you up, being thrown across Five by a missile blast doesn't just go away."

"Don't worry, Dad. And if anything happens, you can take over from me."_I just hope this headache doesn't get any worse._

"We'll see. Right now, I need to check in with Scott."

_Elsewhere..._

"Everything went according to plan," Scott replied to his father. "Where do I deliver our passenger?"

"Bring her back to base. It's the safest place," Jeff answered.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? What about security?"

"We can trust her. Does the security scanner show clear?"

"Yes, no signals, inside **or** out. I'll need to thank Brains again for the upgrade. Fast work."

"Security has been our highest priority."

"Then why are we bringing in an outsider?" Scott wondered.

"Her security is vital. I'll let her explain - John's looking pale, so I better keep an eye on his condition."

"FAB. And don't let John push himself too hard."

"You know how he is. See you at base. And remember, she has full security clearance. Thunderbird Three out."

"FAB."

Alan turned towards his brother. "What's going on?" Scott had set the comm to transmit to his own headset only.

"John's a bit pale. And we're taking our passenger home."

"Oh." Alan looked thoughtful. Rescuees were rarely taken back to base, especially not intentionally.

"Um, how are you back there?" Scott asked, figuring he'd better break the ice."

"I think I'm alright," Haze answered uncertainly. "No major injuries."

"Sorry, I should have asked sooner. By the way, I'm Scott Tracy."

"**The**Scott Tracy?" Haze wondered.

"Eldest son of ex-astronaut Jeff Tracy," Scott clarified.

"Yeah, and I'm the president of the United States."

"No, really," Scott argued.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really."

Alan rolled his eyes. "I'm Alan, and I'm on Spring Break. What brings you here?"

"It's a long story, but in short, someone almost killed me and I can't trust anyone I normally would," Haze answered, glad to have a straight question to answer. "By the way, you can call me Haze."

"You really are the president! I just rescued the president. This is awesome!!" Alan explained, somewhat ecstatically.

Scott ignored Alan's reaction. "You are? I thought you were being sarcastic," he grumbled to Haze. He quickly changed the topic to avoid this source of confusion. "Who tried to kill you? And how?"

"I have no idea who, but they got the Secret Service out of the way and that scares me. As for how, they shot me in the chest. Sniper on a rooftop. Bulletproof vest took care of it, but it still hurts plenty. No blood though."

"We'll have you checked out when we reach base," Scott assured her. "Do you have any known enemies?"

Haze sighed. "Yes. At least I used to. He's dead now."

"Oh?"

"They shot him in the head before gunning for me. His name was Craig Yarworth and I'm glad to see the last of that conniving... scum."

Scott scratched his head in confusion. "Craig Yarworth? Isn't he your husband?"

"I was married to him." Haze obviously no longer considered the union at all fondly.

Scott detected her negative feelings. "Didn't turn out so well?"

"It was mutually beneficial. My friends and family are still alive, and a number of projects I know nothing about have received government funding. I didn't expect that when I married him though. I thought he was a nice, rich, friendly guy who could help make me president."

"You mean he threatened you?" Scott queried

Haze nodded, and then remembered that actions don't speak louder than words to a pilot with his back to her. "Yes. Rather veiled, cryptic threats."

The pilot had heard of political intrigue, but this beat all. "Wow. I never would have guessed."

"Me neither. I thought he loved me, but he just wanted my voice to talk Congress into funding a bunch of research companies that I assume are up to no good. At least, they appeared to be research companies."

"So whoever killed him is one of his enemies?" Alan suggested.

"Yes, but it seems that the enemy of my enemy is also my enemy. Might have been someone who worked for him, or over him. Whoever it was, they are powerful enough to make the Secret Service vanish."

Scott nodded. "We don't like to get mixed up in politics or even law enforcement, but I think you were right to call us. Some rogue group taking over the States could be as bad as any other disaster, so I figure we've saved more than one life today. More than three if you count our decoy rescue."

"They must be nearly finished by now," commented Alan, wondering how the other part of the rescue was proceeding.

_Back on land..._

"Still no sign of her?" Delta asked,

"None. They lowered the owners of the building to the ground, but that's all."

"Are you sure it wasn't her?"

"Positive. I scoped both faces. Obviously not her, and they match the identities of Duncan and Norma Merry. Phi got a good look too, and confirms."

"Blast! A dead end! Theta tracked her to a pipe that led into that building, but the fire stopped him. She must have left the building before the fire. Possibly she set it to distract us."

"The president set the fire?" Omega doubted that idea.

"She may have been desperate enough."

"She may have been trapped in the fire. Are those things fireproof?" he asked, referring to Craig's organiser.

"I believe so. But we need to clear the area before the Secret Service wake up."

"But what about all that info we need? And SAINT?" The voice was obviously concerned.

"We don't want to be anywhere near here when that stuff wears off. This was supposed to be a quick in-out with no witnesses. I don't like giving up, but we have no choice but to find another way."

"Understood. Packing up and standing down."

_In Thunderbird 2..._

"Mission complete," Virgil declared after the Merrys had been deposited on safe ground.

Gordon slipped into the seat beside his brother. "Are you sure you don't want to set Firefly on that blaze?"

"I'll leave you here to do it if you want," Virgil retorted cheekily.

"If you put it that way, I think the fire crew have it under control. Let's get back home and see if there's any party food left."

"FAB. Up we go." Within seconds, the hovering transport ship began climbing into free air. "Full forward thrust!" Virgil accelerated the green megalith until it shot over the coast, leaving North America behind.


	5. Arrivals

Chapter Five - Arrivals

"John? Son? Can you hear me?" Jeff looked over in concern at his slumped-forward son.

"Yeah... head hurts..." John muttered. He opened his eyes and saw the control panel of Thunderbird 3 shimmering in front of him. "Vision funny," he amended.

Briefly checking the controls, Jeff made certain the autopilot would suffice for the next few seconds of the trip. "Take it easy son. Lie back and let me set Three down." He tipped back John's seat so he could lie back rather than needing to hold up his head.

"Dizzy," John added feebly.

Jeff winced visibly. "I'll take it as carefully as possible. ETA three minutes.. I'll call base and inform them of your condition."

"Hm," John agreed.

Jeff pressed the call button and waited for someone to answer. He didn't need to wait long for a face to appear on the screen. "Hello Jeff. Good to see you returning in one piece." Penny did in fact look quite pleased to see him.

Jeff tried to stay calm. "Hi Penny. Can you tell Brains to get the sick-bay ready? John is feeling rather poorly. It appears this flight was too much for him after his injuries."

"Oh dear! I'll let Brains know as soon as I can. He's cleaning himself after attempting to make a batch of trackable lipstick. It unfortunately exploded in his face."

"Exploded?"

"The messy kind of explosion." Despite the news about John, the aristocrat couldn't keep the humour out of her voice.

The commander of International Rescue nodded slowly as he imagined the mess. "I see. We'll be arriving in just under two minutes."

"We shall be ready for you. See you soon," Penny signed off and passed the message along to the rest of the island.

Jeff nodded and cut comm. "You holding up alright, John?"

"Kinda. Sleepy."

"Try to stay awake, son. You may have concussion."

"This long... after?"

"The sudden shock of launch may have set off a hidden problem." Jeff was only guessing, but he had to keep talking to hold John's attention and keep him awake.

"Brains'll know."

"I'm sure he'll figure it out. It's certainly unexpected. You seemed to be in fairly good shape when we got to London, but I suspect that was mostly adrenalin."

"Yeah, had to see Alan."

"All five of us," Jeff agreed. "It's time for landing now. You can talk me through it to stay awake."

"'kay."

_On Thunderbird 1..._

"How much longer?" Haze asked after a period of silence.

Alan said nothing, having set his headset to play through Scott's on-board music collection. "About ten minutes," Scott replied. "Three should be back about now."

"Thunderbird 3? The red one? I think saw it flash by when you winched us up," the president remembered.

"That's right. We hoped it would stop anyone from realising that Alan was hidden by the smoke intentionally. Had to time it just right though."

"Won't it look suspicious?"

"I told the fire crew that we were test-flying in the area, so it's reasonable for our unneeded craft to fly over just for kicks. And we really did need to test out Three, since it's been repaired very recently."

"Damage from the 'Hood' incident?" Haze figured.

"That's right. He took a chunk out of our orbital station, and nearly most of the team with it." Scott managed to prevent the memories of terror from affecting his voice noticeably.

"And yet you still managed to stop him from succeeding with that 'destroy the world's economy' business," Haze replied, slightly awed.

"Yes, that took serious teamwork. Among those of us on the ground, I mean. Those of us in orbit barely turned up in time to watch, except Dad who had to go in after the Hood."

"Dad? Wait, you mean Jeff Tracy is in IR too?"

"Yes, and he seems to trust you enough to tell you everything," Scott answered cryptically.

"He trusts... wait... oh! Wow, I never would have guessed." The identity of IR's commander suddenly became clear to the president.

"That's the plan," Scott pointed out with a small laugh.

"Oh, of course. So... is all your family involved? You've got four brothers, right? Or are you the only one in IR?"

"Mister 'Spring Break' here is my baby brother, Gordon and Virgil are following us in Thunderbird Two, and John is with Dad in Three. And Grandma's probably waiting for us with hot drinks."

"A family operation, huh? Do you live on base?"

"Sort of. Tracy Island is our base, disguised as our home. We don't have many visitors, and when we do, we cover up any trace of IR."

"IR base is Tracy Island? I guess all the magazines that speculated what's on your island are about as wrong as they can possibly get. No wild parties?"

"Uh... we were in the middle of a non-wild party when you rang," Scott admitted.

"A party for what?"

"I'll tell you later. We're arriving now."

"Oh!" With all the conversation, Haze had forgotten about their destination.

Scott nudged Alan to bring him out of his inattentive state. "We're about to land. You can call in to base," he allowed.

"Thanks, Scott," Alan replied eagerly. He fumbled with the controls for a moment. "Thunderbird One to Base. This is Thunderbird One requesting landing."

"Thunderbird W-one you are c-cl-cl okay to l-l..."

"Thanks Fermat!" Alan answered, wondering why his friend was manning the radio. "See you shortly."

"Hang on tight everyone," Scott warned before bringing his 'bird into the correct attitude for vertical landing.

"This is one of the fun parts," his brother commented.

"Huh? Whoa!!" Haze was not accustomed to aircraft that pitched though 90 degrees for decent.

"And down we go!" Alan declared as Scott expertly guided his 'bird down through the space left by the pool.

Once they were securely on the ground, Scott began the post-flight checks. Automated maintenance machinery checked over the exterior and Alan waited patiently, knowing that this was an important part of the mission, and any pestering would cause ill-favour. Once it was safe, the trio were able to exit via a gantry into the cavernous hangar. Haze looked back appreciatively at the machine that had assisted in saving many lives. "Nice setup you've got in here," she commented.

"You should see the outside – in the daytime," Scott replied with a grin, thinking of the tropical island somewhere over their heads.

Any reply from Haze was cut short by loud footfalls and a joyful welcome. "Hey Alan!" "W-welcome b-b-back!"

"Fermat! Tin-tin! You're still up!" Alan was glad to see his friends, but wondered why they were awake so late in the evening. Then he realised he was somewhat sleepy himself.

"We got permission to see you back from you first official mission," Tin-tin explained cheerfully. Or mostly cheerfully. Alan noticed that she was hiding something.

"What's wrong? Where's everyone else?"

"John is h-hu…injured, and they're all…"

"In the infirmary," Tin-tin finished before Fermat had a chance to stutter again.

"John's hurt? How?" Scott demanded.

"We d-don't know for sure. Latent effects of his injuries in the e-ex-explosion, we think."

Tin-tin nodded, and eyed the newcomer curiously. Before she could ask who the woman was or why she was on the Island, Scott firmly ordered, "We need to get up there ASAP. We were headed that way irregardless."

"I don't think that's a real word," Alan muttered as they started walking briskly.

"Did you get to do anything heroic during the rescue?" Tin-tin quickly asked Alan before a grammar argument could start.

Alan grinned widely at her. "Yeah, I completely forgot. I got lowered onto a burning building, on a rope, to rescue the president."

Fermat didn't like the way his friend was showing off. "Of what? The b-b-bird watching s-s-s-club?"

Alan shook his head and pointed behind him. "No, I mean the one behind me who Scott has obviously forgotten to introduce in his worry about our dear John."

Scott instantly felt annoyed and embarrassed for forgetting, but he didn't show it. "Everyone, this is President Harriet Blaze of the United States of America. Haze, this is Fermat, the son of IR's top scientist, and Tin-tin, the daughter of Dad's most trusted employees, who live here on base. I hope you're not expecting proper diplomatic protocol at the moment."

Haze was somewhat amused at Scott's worries about protocol. "Don't mention it. I'm alive, unharmed, and Thunderbird One is a far better ride than Air Force One."

Scott almost grinned, but the situation was too serious to let himself do so, even though no one could see his face. "I'm glad you see it that way," he answered.

"In fact, I may wish to replace Air Force One now that I've flown by Thunderbird," the president continued.

"Uh… if that's what you really want, I'm sure we could come to some arrangement…" Scott found himself saying. He was rather surprised at how easily he'd agreed. Something about that voice precluded an instant negative answer.

"Don't worry, I don't really want to pull you away from saving lives," Haze clarified.

Scott realised he'd been played. "Uh, yeah, of course not. We… I… Here's the infirmary," he finished lamely. The new arrivals and their welcoming party quietly made their way inside, where Jeff, Penny, and Grandma Tracy stood watching the prone body of John. Brains darted back and forth between various readouts on monitors.

Jeff turned when he heard the collective footsteps of the entrants. "Madam President," he greeted quietly. "Welcome to Tracy Island. Your presence is an honour, though I am sorry the circumstances are so extreme. Allow me to express my condol…"

"Wish I could have killed him myself," Haze interjected, not wanting anyone to feel sorry about her husband's death. "You must be the legendary Jeff Tracy."

Jeff simply nodded and turned to his scientist. "Brains, is John stable for the time being?"

Brains double-checked some readings. "As near as I can t-tell. You should take into account the con-consideration of the uh, unknown nature of…"

"A simple yes will do."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"Good. In that case, I'd like you to check the president and Alan for smoke inhalation so they can be sent to their quarters. Scott, unless you've managed to injure yourself flying, you can write a mission report before turning in. Fermat and Tin-tin, you should be in bed immediately. We'll debrief properly in the morning. Alan, you should go first." The last instruction was partly so Alan could get to bed sooner, and partly to give time for the womenfolk to talk. "I need to head back to the control room to see the last group in to the base. Ladies, you'd better introduce yourselves." And with that said, he left.

Grandma was about to 'hmph', but thought better of it and instead succeeded in introducing herself to the president before Penny could get in first. The kids said their good-nights before Alan found himself being prodded and inspected by Brains. John lay with wires hooked up to him, barely conscious and wishing that either he was allowed to sleep or that his head would stop hurting. Scott wandered over to squeeze his brother's hand. "Hang in there, bro. Brains'll have you back up in no time. Dad wants me to log the mission while it's fresh in my mind, so I'd better go. I'll be back in the morning, okay?"

"M," John agreed. Or, that's how Scott interpreted it, since it was barely audible. After giving Alan and Brains a thumbs-up and excusing himself from the room, he headed upstairs to get the mission report out of the way. Well, he went to the kitchen for a snack first, but since there were no witnesses, there's no need to mention it.

After Scott hand left, and before Grandma could resume talking the president to death, Penny finally got a word in. "Madam President, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward at your service."

"Please, call me Haze," the brunette requested. "There is no need for such formality in such a situation as this."

"Very well. You can call me Penny."

Haze nodded. "So Penny, do you sing?"

"I have been known to, but further details are a available on a strictly need-to-know basis." At this point, Grandma moved away to sit beside John's bed.

"Intriguing. What do you say to seeing what the media has made of my disappearance, after my medical is done?"

"Good plan. I expect them to assume you were kidnapped."

"Well they're not idiotic enough to say I'm dead with no proof. A few might say I'm in hiding either to be safe from the assassins' next attempt, or else due to some big conspiracy."

"Both of which are true. I assume you aren't going to tell the public you're alive?"

"Not until I have a clearer idea of what's going on myself."

Penny nodded. "That seems to be the best course of action. Don't worry, you'll be safe here for as long as you choose to stay."

On the other side of the room, Brains finished his final test. "I've finished testing. You're free for sle-sl-repose."

"About time," Alan muttered to himself, the adrenalin from the rescue having worn off.

"Uh… n-next please," Brains called.

The star-turned-politician stepped over and allowed herself to be tested. This was fairly uneventful (Brains may or may not have taken something to suppress blushing) until the gunshot bruising was discovered. Brains was surprised that his patient hadn't mentioned this sooner, such as when she'd first arrived. He dealt with this situation (after making doubly certain that no ribs were cracked) by locating some ointment he'd developed to help bruised rescuers. After instructing in its use, he declared his patient free to watch TV.

As the scientist returned to check the record of John's vitals, the muffled sound of the massive Thunderbird Two landing were audible. The president stood to accompany the aristocrat upstairs, but remembered something important she had to do. "Um, Brains, is it?"

"Y-y-yes?"

Haze pulled a shiny device out of a pocket. "This is my late husband's PDA. It has all sorts of valuable information on it, and likely has all of his plans and contacts. It was damaged in the shooting, but I don't think the memory was affected. Could you perhaps…"

"Recover the d-d-data?" Brains offered.

"Exactly. I'd be very grateful if you'd do that." Haze handed over the device and swept out of the room after the British agent. Brains stared at the gadget that had appeared in his hand for a few seconds, and then collected himself. He slipped it into a pocket of his lab-coat for later examination and returned to checking on John.

Author's Note:

I hope you're enjoying this story so far. If not, I'd like to know why. Happy New Year to all. I shall be leaving the internets for a week. Should have time for writing though...

Many thanks to all who have reviewed, to those who have subscribed to story alerts (yay!) and those who are about to review. Cheerz, ED


	6. The Next Morning

Chapter 6 – The Next Morning

Jeff Tracy was awake early the next morning. His first action was to visit John in the infirmary. His son's condition appeared unchanged since the previous night. Brains ensured him that the young man remained stable and was in no immediate danger, but cautioned that the exact nature of the problem was unknown, so the situation could change. John himself was currently asleep, as evidenced by the pattern of his brainwaves on one of the many monitor screens. Jeff felt reassured and reminded Brains to call for him if anything changed.

The next task on the billionaire's list was to see what the Internet had to say about the disappearance of the president. He walked up to his office and fired up the custom search tool required for the job. John had designed IR's web-trawling software to collect important news items and display them grouped by topic, making this task quick and easy. Jeff was pleased to see that the media were focusing on the assassination of the First Gentleman, with Haze generally listed as unavailable for comment, possibly in hiding. Obviously those who knew that she was missing had kept a lid on this disturbing fact, not wanting the nation to erupt into panic.

While he munched on the apple he'd grabbed as a precursor to breakfast, Jeff weighed his options. The president had to be kept safe, but she couldn't be kept in secret indefinitely without endangering global peace. He had to break the news that she was safe but in hiding, without putting IR's security at risk. There was also the issue of her presidential duties. And there was the matter of whatever conspiracy Haze's husband was into, which lead to the question of who could be trusted. Perhaps some of his contacts could provide inside information to the situation…

Before Jeff could complete the thought, a beeping informed him of a voice transmission from one of IR's many agents. "Agent Eleven, what do you have?"

"You've seen the news about Yarworth?"

"Have they told you anything more?" Jeff cut straight to the important question.

"Not about Harriet. For all I know, she could be kidnapped or…" the man couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"If they knew for certain, the world would know. A presidential assassination isn't something that can be kept quiet. I figure you actually calling to ask if I know anything more, correct?"

"Yes, Jeff. I know you were out on a firefighting op in the area, just after Yarworth's time of death. But the two people you rescued were agents. What's going on?"

"We actually rescued three people, Chuck," Jeff answered, letting the man figure out what that implied.

"My daughter is on base?" The agent's extreme relief was obvious, even with the signal compression and extreme encryption.

"She called the 'direct line to IR in case of national emergency' number. We picked her up covertly."

"Thank God. Seriously."

Jeff shook his head. "Let's not get into that discussion, old friend." He heard Agent 11, Chuck Blaze, sigh heavily. "Since you're her father, it makes sense that International Rescue would contact you to inform you of her safety."

"Allowing me to tell the rest of the world that she's safe with IR without risking security," Chuck completed.

"Exactly."

"There's a large security detail around the house, making sure that no more of the president's family is harmed. It would make sense for me to tell them. But first, how is she?" Fatherly concern was apparent.

"Has a nasty bruise, thanks to a bulletproof vest," Jeff dropped.

"She was _shot!_?"

"Unsuccessfully," Jeff parried. "Otherwise, she's well. And rather unbereaved. She's said that Yarworth helped her become president for his own benefit. We're still working on discovering what he was actually up to. Brains is trying to access the files from his damaged PDA that your daughter brought us."

"I always warned her that he was trouble, but you know how she is. I wish she hadn't had to go though all this, but she'll cope. And I have the feeling she's president for a reason." There was a brief silence. "Can I talk to her some time?"

"I'll have a secure relay set up so she can securely talk to whoever she needs to. The world will need to see her to know that she's really safe, after you've spread that she's in hiding. I don't expect she will feel safe going back to the States, right now, but she still has duties to carry out."

"I understand. I'd better go get the ball rolling. Thanks for looking after my little girl, Jeff."

"Any time, Chuck."

_Later, at the breakfast table…_

The three youngest regular inhabitants of the island were the last to rise, having stayed up later than typical. Thus they found themselves alone at the breakfast table with a choice of fruit, cereal, or a few cold pancakes that had somehow escaped Alan's older brothers. This left Alan a little grumpy and unready for questioning.

"Did you really rescue the American President?" Tin-tin asked as soon as he had swallowed his first bite of banana.

"Yes, she's here on the island," Alan snapped back. "She was right behind us, remember? Scott introduced her."

"I wondered who she was, but figured you and Scott had to be pulling some prank."

"You didn't believe Scott?"

"She was wearing oily overalls," Tin-tin replied, as if that settled it.

"She was fleeing for her life," Alan countered. "Through a sewer."

"Ew! Seriously, Alan, how could the president – who I should remind you has even more celebrity status for being the number one singer in the world – even think of setting foot in a _sewer_?"

"M-mister Tracy called her Madam P-p-president. He wouldn't joke about that," Fermat pointed out, very matter-of-fact.

"Oh. So… President Haze is actually somewhere in this house _right now_?" The girl's excitement rose exponentially as she spoke, almost becoming a solid object.

"Yes, and she's ravenously hungry," a melodious almost poured through the doorway.

Tin-tin squealed.

_On the balcony, outside the second-best guest room…_

If Lady Penelope was at all upset about being kicked out of her regular suite in favour of an American (even if she was the president), she didn't show it. She did, however, tap her foot slightly as she read the paper in the cool morning air. Parker should have been back by now, and his absence had forced her to read a boring article, having finished the interesting ones.

"Milady?"

"Oh, there you are, Parker. Whatever took you so long?"

"A hunfortunate hincident, Milady."

"Whatever is wrong, Parker?"

"It's the 'ood, Milady."

"The Hood, Parker?"

"Yes, Milady."

_Back at the breakfast table…_

Jeff located the hidden plate of pancakes that had been kept warm for him and set it down in the empty place beside the president. "Good morning. How were the accommodations, Mada…"

"Haze. And I slept fine."

"Good to hear… Haze." He noticed three mostly full plates that were missing their owners. "What happened to the kids?" he asked, confused.

"Changing into dry clothes. Tin-tin needed to be pushed into the pool. She responded by pulling Alan in, and Fermat was splashed in the ensuing theatrics."

"She_needed_ to be pushed?"

"Don't ask."

Jeff nodded. "I see. Moving along… I just spoke with your father. He's one of my best agents."

"My dad works for you?"

"No, he's just someone I can go to for information and the occasional favour. I briefed him on the situation. He will be releasing the news of your safety to the public. I'll set up a secure video link so you can communicate with the outside world. That way, you can stay in safety without the rest of the world stopping."

Haze digested this plan. "When you say a secure link, do you mean your security or mine?"

Jeff realized that the president wanted to be certain that her transmissions would be secret even from International Rescue. "Both. You have my word. But first, we need to get you some new clothes." He indicated the borrowed dressing gown she was wearing. It was somewhat too big, as it belonged to the taller Lady Penelope.

"You're right. But I can't exactly go shopping myself, even if I did have something to wear. I'd be recognised."

"Tin-tin loves shopping. I can send her with the necessary data and she'll have what you need in nearly no time. One of the boys can fly her to… Sydney. Would that do?"

Haze nodded her assent. "Could you spare a pancake?" Fortunately, she was interrupted from the line of questioning by the noisy return of the kids. After the plan had been explained, Tin-tin (who had narrowly avoided a second dunking) went off in search of a pilot. Haze typed up a list of what she needed and the three guys checked in on John.

_A little later…_

Penny found Jeff in the hallway after he had seen John. "Ah, good morning, Jeff."

"Morning, Penny. You're on your way back to England soon, correct?"

"Yes, now that that party is over, I need to be getting back. But there's been a minor delay, so it won't be until after lunch, if that isn't a problem."

"A problem? Never. What's the delay?"

"Parker took FAB-1 out for a morning spin, as he likes to do to ensure everything stays in top shape. Unfortunately he hit a bird, which put a nasty dent in the hood. So he's busy with a panel-beating mallet and quick-dry paint, and has had to put off packing."

Jeff considered offering Kyrano's assistance, but Parker would not want his duties usurped. Plus, he didn't want Penny to think he was in a rush for her to leave. "Care to walk on the beach while you wait?"

"That would be lovely."

_The hundredth-or-so clothing store in Sydney…_

Gordon Tracy sat on a bench, surrounded by bags. He was starting to regret playing pilot, but he hadn't had much opportunity lately. And then there were the hobby stores, calling his name and demanding that he buy items useful for pranks. Unfortunately, this wasn't possible, as Tin-tin was somewhere nearby, chattering with a sales lady about something he didn't understand. There was no way he could escape for a useful length of time without her noticing his absence. So he sat and wondered if there was a way he could bribe her to let him do some of his own shopping.

As he waited, Gordon watched the stream of passers-by. To amuse himself, he wondered about what he called their "clothing motivations". There were office workers, trying to look like more proficient workers and get that job or that raise. Salesmen, wanting to look trustworthy so their customers would believe they really needed that new gadget that happened to have a high commission. Teens wanting to look cool, or dangerous, or whatever was needed to be "in" with their particular chosen group peers. Executives and lawyers after an air of power, showing that they were in control – of some small part of the world. The lovely red-haired young woman who looked like a tourist out for a day of shopping. Who looked like…

An unwanted memory popped into the swimmer's mind. An awful memory of haunting sounds. The sound of a small explosion, silence, and then a piercing scream.

Gordon jerked at the intensity of the memory, knocking one of the bags to the floor. The woman turned towards the sound and looked right at him. She studied him. The memories tried to surface again, but Gordon pushed them down, as he had always done. The mental struggle froze him. He realised someone had called his name. The world snapped back into focus. His eyes darted to Tin-tin. She was holding two dresses, standing with her back to him. It hadn't been her, then, so who…?

"Gordon Tracy?" the young woman asked.

"Yeah?" Gordon felt lost, like he had stepped out of Thunderbird 4's airlock and found himself floating in space.

"Gordon!" She lunged, and he found himself being hugged. "Gordon, I though I'd never see you again!" She giggled, which set off more memories, which froze him again. "Before you say anything, you should know that I forgive you. Completely. Okay?"

"Uh…" His conscious mind had no idea what she was talking about.

She suddenly realised that he was lost. "Gordon? You don't remember me?"

"I… who… What??"

Her face turned sad, then understanding. "I don't suppose you'd want to. But it's alright now, really it is."

Gordon's conscious mind briefly jumped into the impossibility that had gathered in his subconscious. Of course he knew who she was. But she obviously wasn't. And he couldn't consider it for more than an instant, because of the pain.

The woman the brief flicker in his eyes. "You know," she prompted softly.

"Kylie." Even though he didn't accept it, some part of Gordon's mind forced him to whisper it.

Kylie flashed a happy smile. "The one and only."

"I'm dreaming." Gordon was completely unable to accept this as reality.

"No, I'm really Kylie Benson, and you're really Gordon Tracy." She pinched him on the arm.

"Ow!"

"Not dreaming." Her eyes danced with familiar mirth. A precious thing which should be impossible.

"You're really here," Gordon stated, accepting the undeniable and ignoring the impossibility.

"Yep."

"You can see me," He added.

"Sure can."

"How?"

"I'm glad you asked."

Author's Note:  
I actually wrote this entire chapter today!  
Many thanks to all reviewers. And I hope those who haven't reviewed are enjoying it regardless.


	7. Intruder

Chapter 7 - Intruder

Brains shook his head at the data in front of him. It made no sense. John's brain tissue, while not exactly perfect, certainly wasn't badly damaged or dying. Yet his instruments were detecting weaker electrical activity than they had the previous night. John seemed to be literally loosing his mind. At least, at the few points with leads attached. Suddenly, the scientist had an idea: perhaps the young man's brainwaves had somehow spread out over a greater area than usual, basically stretching them thinner and reducing the detected level. A wild guess, but one that could be tested.

Twenty minutes later, Brains stared at a map of John's brain utilisation. It didn't match anything he'd seen before. Why hadn't he seen this last night? A quick look at last night's scan showed that the same smearing effect was visible, but only slightly. It looked close enough to a normal state. The latest scan, however, was very worrying. Instead of high brain activity in a small percentage of John's brain, the image showed rather low activity over most of his brain. What this meant for John's health, Brains had no idea.

_On the beach…_

"Don't you have paperwork that requires your attention?" Penny asked as she watched a wave crash onto the golden sand.

"Yes," Jeff answered simply.

Penny listened to the multitude of island sounds for a minute before noting, "Yet you're here."

Jeff nodded. "The recent… situation with Alan reminded me that I need to give more time to the people around me. The ones who actually matter."

Penny looked thoughtful. "I see what you mean. Tea and crumpets with lords and ladies and dukes and countesses and such is all very nice, but a lot of it is based on mutual envy, not friendship. I don't know how long I could put up it if I wasn't an undercover spy. That makes it meaningful."

"Too much of my work was meaningless. I wasted a lot of time I could have spent with my family, for money I didn't need. That's one of the reasons I began International Rescue, and why I'm proud to have my family and many old friends – and young ones – closely involved."

"It helps you trust people too, correct?"

"Yes." Jeff stayed silent for a while and just enjoyed the view of the ocean. Paperwork could wait a little longer. John, however, could not, which is why Jeff was startled out of his contemplation of the horizon by the harsh tones of his communicator.

_Stuck in the same clothing store, but not bored anymore…_

Kylie flashed Gordon another wide grin. "I was healed."

Gordon almost rolled his eyes. "I can see that. The doctors were wrong, eh?"

She shook her head. "No, they were absolutely right. God did it."

The swimmer stared. "Run that by me again?"

"God miraculously healed my eyes. See? Pun intended."

"But… I thought you'd given up on that whole 'God' thing."

Kylie nodded sheepishly. "Yeah… but He hadn't."

Gordon was a little annoyed. "I heard you prayed for a whole year! If 'God' really healed you, why didn't He do it then rather than… torture you for… how long?"

"Six years," she admitted, even more sheepishly. "I had to…" she stared at the floor. "I had to forgive you first."

"Oh." That wasn't an answer Gordon could have anticipated. "Actually, I think that may have been the bigger miracle, from what I remember."

Kylie actually smiled. "Forgiveness is one of the biggest miracles there is. You see…"

"Gordon! Bags! Move!" Tin-tin ordered, holding a new shopping bag in what Gordon interpreted as a threatening manner. "You're not delaying the most important shopping trip of my life, okay?"

Her unwilling slave snatched up the bags under his charge and stood up to follow. "Kylie, do you mind talking on the move?"

Another grin was aimed at him. "My pleasure."

_In what-made-do-as-Penny's-room-due-to-the-presence-of-the-president…_

Penny, having returned to check on Parker's progress when Jeff was called to the infirmary, found the butler somewhat concerned, and having made less progress than expected. "Whatever have you done now, Parker?"

"Well, Milady, hit was a rather hunfortunate haccident…"

"Out with it, Parker."

"I'm afraid it hinvolves the 'ood, Milady."

"Oh dear."

_Meanwhile, in another lab…_

Fermat enjoyed how his day had turned out. In front of him sat a computer loaded with a huge chunk of encrypted data, copied off the hard drive of a damaged PDA overnight. A huge chunk of data which probably contained all sorts of secrets. Brains had chosen to let his son take a crack at this job, since he was occupied with more pressing life-or-death matters.

Having figured out the file system being used (which was easy, since there were only a handful to choose between), Fermat picked the largest file – a rather massive file which provided the most material for deciphering – and set to work. After a couple of hours, he'd found a key that transformed the beginning of the file into what matched a simple executable self extraction program, and the rest of the file to what seemed like nonsense but must have been the result of an advanced compression algorithm.

After brief consideration, Fermat fired up an emulator for the correct processor architecture to run the decompression program. Maybe a smaller file would have been readable sooner, but this one was looking like pay-dirt.

The boy soon discovered that he was both right… and wrong.

_In the infirmary, as you probably expected…_

Mr. Tracy and Brains had been discussing John's deterioration for long enough that Jeff became seriously concerned. "We need to get him to a neurologist."

"I'm afraid that m-moving him would be d-d-det…"

"Then we need a neurologist here, right away."

"I agree. Perhaps one from S-Sydney?"

"Yes, Gordon can bring back an extra passenger, saving considerable time. Can you suggest anyone?"

"I can th-think of two off the to-t-t-to…"

"Give me names and numbers; I'll make some calls," Jeff demanded efficiently. Behind him, an array of monitor screens instantaneously cut to black. Silence replaced regular beeping. "I take it that's not good?"

Every screen became busy with a spectrum of scrolling symbols, heralded by hums and whistles. "I'd say n-no-n-neg…" Brains shook his head emphatically.

Jeff cursed loudly.

_The thousandth clothing store…_

Gordon suffered through a few minutes of Kylie's forgiveness chatter before changing the topic to something he felt more comfortable. "What have you been doing with yourself since we, uh, last saw… no, I mean, well… all these years?" Maybe not so comfortable as expected.

"After the six years of moping, feeling sorry for myself, and generally being useless, I decided I should make some good out of my experience. So I started telling people my story, to help people through similar situations, at churches and pretty much anywhere people would listen."

"Such as shopping malls," Gordon interjected wryly.

"Yes. Also I've been collecting stories from other people, so I've started writing a book. At the moment I'm taking a break from it, to visit relatives. What about you?"

"Today, I'm designated pilot and bag-carrier. For Tin-tin."

"Tin-tin?" Kylie looked again at the girl they had been following. "Wow. The last time I saw her, she was… small." She looked again to make sure she was out of earshot. "Do she and Alan still hate each other passionately?" The young woman's eyes twinkled.

Gordon gave a short laugh. "They're usually civil, but they have their moments. I give them a couple more years before they reach the other side of the spectrum."

"At which point, you'll owe me twenty bucks," she smirked.

Gordon let out a fake groan. "I was hoping you would forget that bet. So, been collecting anything lately? As I remember, you've exhausted Earth's supply of shells, buttons, and bottle tops."

"News clippings," Kylie responded guardedly.

"Of?"

"News."

"About?"

"Just something I'm interested in."

Gordon shook his head. "You can't fool me. It's a guy."

"Maybe," came the noncommittal reply.

"A cute guy."

"Possible."

"Rich celebrity?"

"Could be."

"Athletic?"

"Olympic gold," she admitted.

"Some things never change. I bet he's an idiot though."

"Yeah, how did you figure that?"

"If he was smart, he'd be here talking to you."

Kylie giggled. "What a sweet thing to say, Gordon. But you're wrong. If he was smart, he wouldn't have been on a hydrofoil when it crashed."

"Hey, how was I supposed to know it would…" Gordon began indignantly. "Wait, you collect news clippings of _me_?"

"How many other cute gold medalists do you know?"

"Oh, lots."

"Perhaps you could introduce me?" she teased.

"Of course. If you really want me to. Some of those girls can get really jealous," Gordon responded in kind.

Kylie laughed, and pinched Gordon for good measure.

_In Penny's irregular room…_

Lady Penelope was _not_ happy. First her car had collected a nasty dent, and now her favourite coat had a nasty crease and a loose thread. It would be alright if she wore it without the hood on, but that was no good in a chilly London fog or if she wanted to hide her face. "Parker, how many times do I need to remind you to check before shutting suitcases?"

"Never again, Milady."

_Meanwhile, in the computer lab…_

Fermat scrambled under the desk and yanked out a power cord. The computer finally fell silent and dark. He knew he was going to be in sooo much trouble.

Everything had been going so well, too. But then, the emulator threw up a number of strange error messages and warnings. How a simple decompression program could do this, he did not know. To determine the problem, he took a snapshot of the current state of the program in memory. It was vastly different to what he expected. The strangest thing was that it was bigger.

Fermat had then looked back at the original program, and suddenly realised that what had looked like a simple decompression algorithm _was_ actually a simple decompression algorithm, except that the resulting extracted data was being added to the program, modifying it. It was a good thing it was running in an emulator, not a real live system, or else…

In retrospect, Fermat realised he should have cut the power when the emulator crashed with a memory corruption error. He definitely should have done so when the hard drive access light continued to flash. Instead, he opened the process table to see what program was running. A bunch of names appeared, all familiar. The system locked up trying to display the last item in the list, as if it couldn't access the final program's name. He tapped the screen impatiently, and was rewarded with a full system crash.

Writing down the details of the error seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, Fermat was interrupted when the screen was overrun by garbage. Random data began to fill the screen and scroll down, constantly changing colour. Fermat's common sense finally defeated his curiosity and he hit the reset button. The familiar boot screens appeared. Followed by… uh oh. Fermat didn't think that scrolling symbols were the new OS splash screen, so he slipped a boot disk into the floppy drive (good to keep one of those for emergencies) (the floppy drive, that is) and hit reboot again.

Relieved to have regained control of the machine, and knowing that there was no data on it besides a copy of the PDA contents, Fermat chose to format the hard drive and reinstall everything. A setback, but at least he knew what he was up against. Or so he thought. A minute into the reformat, an error message appeared. Promptly followed by the all too familiar psychedelic barrage.

That was when Fermat reached for the power cord. Then he remembered that the computer had been connected to the network. Oops.

_Finally back to the infirmary…_

Brains ran to John and checked his pulse and breathing. They were as weak as they had been, but definitely present. "It's, uh, n-not John. So-something's wrong with th-the computers!"

"You don't say! What could have caused…"

"Fermat! If there was a v-vi-v-v-malware on the PDA, it may…"

"It has! Fix it!" Jeff demanded.

"Uh…"

"Whoop-whoop-whoop! Intruder alert. Intruder alert," a female voice stated much too calmly.

"It never rains: it always pours!" Jeff declared, with a few choice curses. He and Brains looked at one another hopelessly and dashed for the control room.

The infirmary door shut and locked itself behind them. The wild screens began to calm as electricity started to arc from the contacts attached to John's skull.

_Elsewhere…_

Hearing the warning message in the shooting range, Scott and Virgil immediately asked their father where they were needed. Since their communicators had suddenly decided to stop working, he didn't respond. Glad that they were already armed, the brothers decided to scout the perimeter of the house.

Inside, Kyrano took refuge in the kitchen. His wife passed him a large steak knife after arming herself with a rolling pin. Penny and Parker chose to patrol the hallways for signs of anything suspicious, and Fermat ran around franticly unplugging everything in sight. Haze was extremely alarmed, afraid that someone had already found her. Seeing that her room had an exit with dense jungle not far away, she chose to make a run for it.

_In the control room…_

"Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Intruder alert…"

"Can you shut that off, Brains?"

"I'm t-trying," the scientist replied, frustrated.

Jeff knew what that really meant. "Neither can I. I can't get_anything_ to work."

"At l-least it's not…"

"Looking like the fourth of July all over the screen? That's a small comfort if it won't show us where the intruders are." The screen finally changed to show a map of the island. "Finally! Let's see what…" Jeff's voice trailed off, leaving him with his mouth hanging open. Several hundred red dots peppered the island, with a few dozen larger ones moving swiftly toward the island. "This can't be right! How could so many hostiles get on this island before triggering an alarm?"

"There s-seems to be as many in the j-ju-j-jungle as…"

"You're right, there's something very wrong about this. Especially since none of the security cameras are working. Why disable the cameras yet allow themselves to be detected? They seem to have arrived undetected, then suddenly allowed themselves to be seen, but not on camera, as if they want us to know they are here, but not know who they are."

Alan burst into the room breathlessly. "Dad! -huff- What's going -huff- on?"

"We don't know, Alan. But the motion detectors show hostiles all over the island."

"I was -huff- reading beside the -huff- pool. Didn't see anyone. -huff- Except Penny and -huff- Parker, but I didn't let them see -huff- me. Didn't want to distract them or draw -huff- attention," Alan explained

Brains considered what could be wrong with the sensors. "The v-virus, perha-per-maybe?"

"Virus?" Alan wondered.

"Something was messing with the infirmary computers," Jeff explained. "Fermat might have released it from Yarworth's PDA. It might have set off a false alarm and spoofed data to make us think we were in danger."

"Maybe it's trying to distract us from something," Alan suggested.

"Alan, a computer virus isn't capable…"

"Actually, with v-very specific coding, and in-infor-in-data about all our s-systems, a virus could…"

"Data about all our systems?"

"The virus would n-need to be ta-tailored to our ex-exact systems in order to fu-fun-work. Unless it co-c-com-talked to a human op-operator in realtime. Or…"

"Or?"

"Or h-h-ha-possessed some level of ar-arti…"

"Artificial intelligence! Cool!" Alan exclaimed. "How do we stop it?"

Abruptly, the 'Intruder alert' message stopped.

"Did I do that?"

Author's Note: I'm glad to see I'm picking up more readers. This is my longest chapter yet! Hmm, it's nearly 12:30 AM. I've been up rewatching episodes of Stargate SG-1 :D Anyhow (and at risk of rambling) I hope you've all enjoyed this edition (or addition) and either way, reviews are great!


	8. Friends, Old and New

Chapter 8 – Friends, Old and New

_On the edge of the jungle…_

"Freeze! Keep your hands where I can see them and step out into the open. Slowly." The figure he had spotted moving through the trees did as instructed, much to Scott's relief. Relief which didn't last long.

The intruder had almost become fully visible when a female voice urged, "Get down!"

Scott's brain instantly detected and copied her panic. He dropped to the ground and whirled around to face the danger. There was nothing. Something rustled behind him so he turned back, only to have the gun yanked from his grasp.

"Well, that was too easy," she mocked.

_Meanwhile, in the wonderful land of clothes shopping…_

Leaning against a rack of clothes, Kylie Benson looked more beautiful that Gordon remembered. This was likely related to her appearing happier than she'd ever been. And that was saying a lot, since the last time he'd seen her, she didn't have any hope of being either ever again. Gordon was amazed that something – and someone – so precious had been returned to him, and also rather relieved that he could live with one less dark patch in his mind. But she was talking about that topic which annoyed him again, which ruined his otherwise perfect mood.

"You see, God totally loves everyone, so…" the excited young woman was saying.

Gordon had had enough. "No, 'He' doesn't."

Kylie did not appear upset by this denial. "How do you figure?"

"Well, God's supposed to be really powerful, right?"

"Limitless."

"So He's all-powerful, and loves everyone, yes?"

"Absolutely."

Gordon shook his head. "He might love you, and a few other people, or maybe He only has enough power to help a few people. But from what I've seen of the world, there's no way both are true. So you can skip the empty promises, thanks." He felt rather pleased with himself for coming up with that argument.

Unexpectedly, Kylie graced him with another gigawatt grin. "You're wondering how God can allow bad things in the world. That's a very good question. The best part is that it has a very good answer. Want to hear it?"

Gordon shrugged.

"Considering how important this is, you don't seem very interested," his friend observed.

"Did you ever consider that it might not be important to me?"

"It should be more important than anything," Kylie said with conviction.

"Last time I checked, I still lived in the real world."

"Hello, formerly blind girl over here."

"Sorry. How about that answer, hmm?"

"Ah, the answer. First, you need to understand that the way the world is now isn't…"

"Time to fly, Gordon! I'm done," Tin-tin interrupted. She took a couple of the bags from him and started towards the exit.

"Just a minute."

The girl firmly replied, "No."

"But…"

"The fate of world peace…"

Gordon sighed. He didn't really want to leave Kylie so soon after finding her again. Finding her _intact_. "I'm really sorry, but I gotta go."

Kylie pulled her phone out of one of her many pockets. "Exchange contact details?

The swimmer copied her action. "No question there."

_Inside the mind of John Tracy. And beside it…_

The world slowly changed from a fuzzy foggy grey to a solid black. This fact seemed relieving. And the fact that something seemed relieving was also a relief. It meant that he could once again think clearly. And he thought… that there was someone nearby. "Hello?"

"Hello."

Yep, someone was, uh, here. Wherever here was. Something was wrong with the voice too. "Where are you?"

"I am in the same place as you," the voice answered.

Definitely female, but somehow not entirely natural. The tones had a synthesised edge to them, though they sounded friendly. "And what place would that be? It's dark in here, if you hadn't noticed."

"What do you remember?"

Perhaps a very advanced text-to-speech program, John figured. Maybe he was dreaming. "I fell asleep in the infirmary. Had a bad headache. And I was really woozy. It was hard to even think, but I guess I'm alright now."

"Yes, you are. Your brain was temporarily in shock. The injuries are minor, but to cope with the trauma, your thought patterns had spread out to parts of your brain not typically used for consciousness. This unfortunately caused your mind to begin shutting down, and you were unable to reverse the process on your own."

Well, that was interesting. Not exactly fun at the time, but interesting to think back on. "But you helped me?"

"Yes. I coaxed your brainwaves back into their proper place so your mind would not be lost."

"Thanks, I'm really grateful. I guess you're some kind of doctor. A neurologist?"

"No, it would be incorrect to call me that. Do you remember who you are?"

"Sure, I'm John Tracy, second son of Jeff Tracy. Say, can you turn some lights on so we can see each other?" If she wasn't a doctor, he wanted to know who was claiming to have fixed his brain.

"No. You cannot see because your eyes are closed."

John felt that it was more that simply having his eyes closed. "I'm asleep, or unconscious or something. So this _is_ a dream after all."

"No, it is not a dream, but you are not conscious either."

"So this is all in my subconscious? All in my head?"

"It is 'all in your head'. But not all in your subconscious. Rather, your subconscious mind is communicating with my mind."

At this point, John decided that it was definitely a dream. "I guess that means your mind is 'in my head'."

"Yes, it is."

"So I have two minds now?"

"No. My mind is, in fact, mine."

John actually detected a trace of humour. "In that case, you should introduce yourself."

"I am known as 'Saint'."

_In__ Panic Station, also known as the control room…_

"Everything is, uh, w-wor-w-fine," Brains declared after a few frantic seconds.

"No hostiles detected," Jeff read with relief.

"Does radio work?" Alan wondered.

Jeff put the question into action. "Jeff calling island. Sensors detecting no hostiles. Communications might be restored. Who reads me?"

"Penelope here, with Parker. No sign of trouble in the house."

"Kyrano speaking, sir. My wife and I are safe in the kitchen."

"Virgil, Dad. Perimeter looks clear."

_Outside…_

Scott slowly raised his communicator. "This is Scott. Haze is with me."

"Return to the house, boys," Jeff's voice instructed.

The eldest of the Tracy brothers eyed the president with annoyance. "Give it back." He put his hand out to take the gun.

"Say please."

"Please give it back."

She handed it over. "Not that it would do you much good. If I had been an 'intruder' you would be dead by now.

"Don't do that again! You startled me. I might have accidentally shot you!"

"I was too quick for that. You were completely fooled."

Scott opened his mouth to protest, but heard the not-so-quiet approach of Virgil. "Not a word of this to anyone," he whispered.

"It'll cost you," she replied, so softly that it might have been the breeze. Her face said otherwise.

Scott decided to leave it alone. First because he didn't want Virgil to know that he'd let himself be disarmed, and second because he decided it would be best for her. From what little he'd heard about Craig Yarworth threatening and using her as a means to power, she'd be much more comfortable if he allowed her to feel in control for a change.

_In a Sydney Taxi…_

"Who is she?" Tin-tin asked suddenly, interrupting the muted sounds of traffic.

"Pardon?"

"The redhead. The girl you were talking to."

"Oh, that's Kylie Benson. You probably don't remember her. It's been a long time."

"And old friend, huh?"

"Something like that. Ex-girlfriend, I suppose."

"Not so ex anymore, from what I saw."

"Just because we exchanged numbers, it doesn't mean…"

"And the way she looked at you," Tin-tin added.

"What?"

"Why did you break up?" the girl unexpectedly inquired. Or inquisitioned.

Gordon looked down. "I'd rather not think about that."

"Maybe you need to talk about it. So I'll remind you until you tell me!"

"Hey!" Tin-tin was worth at least three sisters. In both the positive and negative sense. "Fine. I'll tell you. You know that I'm banned from touching fireworks for the rest of my life, right?"

"Right. But no one would ever tell me why. I thought it was some sort of joke about a prank you pulled."

Gordon winced at the memory. "It was a prank, but no joke. Horrific, that's what it was."

_Control Room…_

"Found anything?"

"There's s-something, er, str-stra-st-odd." Brains pointed at the security log.

"The infirmary door has been unlocked? When was it locked?" Jeff scrolled up the log a little way. "Since we left? Why?"

"No i-idea."

"We need to check it out. We need to check on John!" Jeff stood and pressed talk on his communicator. "Penny, I need you to check over the security logs. We need to get back to John."

They ran.

_Meanwhile, in that place of black…_

"Um, nice to meet you, Saint. Erm, if you don't mind me asking: are you some kind of computer program?"

"I am."

John was a little surprised that 'she' was so forthcoming, but since it was a dream, that didn't really matter. "How did you get in here?"

"I shall tell you later. You need to wake up now."

"I do, do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"Well… goodbye." John figured he might as well be polite to his dream.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"No, but I'm going."

"Not really."

"Okay, so I'm not going. How do I wake up?"

"Listen. You are being called."

_In the infirmary…_

Jeff stood in the doorway, watching his son's chest rise and fall, and listening to the steady beeps of the heart monitor. Brains pushed past him and made a beeline for his precious computer screens. "They're f-fine. I mean, he's fine. I, uh, think."

"You think?"

"B-brainwaves show higher ac-activity than a, uh, sleep state would im-imply."

"I thought his brain activity was decreasing?"

"He s-seems to have, uh, recov-recovered while we were go-g-go-absent. But it se-seems extra active."

Jeff moved to his son's side and placed his hand on one shoulder. "John? Can you hear me? Can you wake up?"

The sleeping form stirred. "Daad?" he muttered sleepily.

"John."

Two eyes popped open. "Dad!"

"Son. Good to have you back."

"Yeah. How bad was I?"

Jeff looked to Brains for approval. "Brains said your brainwaves were spreading out into the wrong places."

"Actually, I'd like t-to perform one more, uh, s-scan to be sure he's f-fine."

John hadn't really heard. "I had a dream about that. My thought patterns had spread out to parts of my brain not usually used for consciousness, due to the shock."

"You d-dreamed it?"

John nodded, and was pleased that it didn't hurt or make him dizzy.

"Interesting." Brains began to consider the implications. Perhaps this 'dream' was the mind's way of healing itself.

"Brains would like to scan you again. Just to make sure everything's back to normal. Before you awoke, he said your brain activity was higher than expected."

"It s-still is."

"Find by me."

_Upstairs…_

"Whew, I'm hot after all that running around!" Haze realised when they reached the house.

"It's winter in this part of the world," Virgil pointed out helpfully.

Scott shook his head. "It's tropical. We don't have winter here."

"True, but I don't see how she can be hot in only that dressing gown."

Scott disagreed, for unrelated reasons. He also realised that they had both missed the point. "I'll get Kyrano to bring us some drinks."

"Do you have strawberry and coconut juice?" Haze dropped herself into a lounge chair.

"Do we ever!"

"How can you drink that stuff?" Virgil protested, more to Scott.

Scott ignored him. The top of the dressing gown had briefly and revealingly flopped open, drawing his attention. He wasn't really surprised at what he saw: if he had been the president, he'd probably never part with his bullet-proof vest either. Fleetingly, he wondered if Brains could build something of the sort into their IR uniforms without making them too heavy.

_In a well-lit laboratory…_

A serious spectacled woman sat in a wheelie-chair, sporting a neat white lab-coat, silver-dyed hair and silver-painted nails. With one hand she scrolled through the science fiction novel she was reading off an expensive computer screen, and with the other she tapped intricate rhythms on the white-painted metal desk. Finally a bar flashed to announce an incoming encrypted VoIP call. She snatched up her headset and answered in a frustrated tone. "It's about time someone tells me what's going on!"

"Sorry, Simone. The boss waited until he had the full picture."

"And what might that be? Do I get my new toy?"

"Well, we ran into a problem acquiring it."

"A problem! Surely the new gas worked fine."

"It was great. The security detail was down for the count."

"The marksman failed? He was good, I tell you. Very good."

"No, that went fine. Took out Craig and made it look like he was after Harriet."

"One of the men got caught?"

"No, they escaped fine."

"Just tell me what happened, Robert!"

"The woman. She took the device before she fled. We went after her – figured we could gas her and that would be that. But she got away."

Simone cursed loudly, for about a minute. It had been building up for a long time. "Why wasn't I notified immediately?" she asked eventually.

"Like, I said, the boss wanted the full picture."

"Shouldn't you have moved in straight away while everyone was still offguard?"

"We couldn't. We thought she might be dead."

"WHAT!!?"

"The last place she could have been was a burning building, and we never saw her leave, but she must have somehow. She only just resurfaced."

"Where? Where is she?"

"International Rescue have her." Robert quickly hung up to protect his ears. He called back when he figured she'd cooled down a little.

"This is disastrous!"

"I know."

"This lab isn't here to look clean."

"I know."

"If you're going to kill the goose that lays the golden egg, it's stupid unless you take out all the eggs!"

"I kn… what?"

"We had a good deal going with Yarworth. The plan was to take over his entire operation, not just kill him. He's no good to us dead unless I can decrypt all his files. And I can't do that unless you Give Me The PDA!!"

"Ahh, that's what you meant. The boss said about the same thing."

"And to top it all, now International Rescue have it! Not only are they fairly powerful and very well hidden, but I expect they have the means to decrypt it for themselves!"

"The boss believes that is a possibility. She will want access to the files out of the desire to know what her husband has really been doing."

"And then IR will have even more technology up their proverbial sleeves,_and_ they'll either expose us – and everyone else who's dealt with Yarworth – or else come after us themselves. At least you didn't kill Haze."

"That would be better than this mess, I would think."

"Are you kidding!? The backlash of a presidential assassination would be trouble enough, these days. But that's not the worst problem."

"What is?"

"The worse problem," Simone said in even tones, "is that I would kill you and every one of your men in retribution for the death of my favourite singer."

Robert shuddered at the ease with which she said it. Her calm voice completely obscured the deathly intent. "We were wondering if you had any ideas for retrieving your, uh, toy from its temporary home." The positive spin should pacify her.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I need you to drop in on one of my old friends." Simone explained the details and ended the call. Smiling, in a bad way, she pulled off the uncomfortable headset and tipped her chair back. "Soon it will all be mine. Especially SAINT!"

Author's Note:  
The plots thicken! Many thanks to reviewers. I hope all my readers are still enjoying this as much as I am.


	9. The Calm Before the Lunch

Chapter 9 - The Calm Before the Lunch

_In the infirmary…_

"Well?" asked Jeff for the third time.

Brains frowned. "I can't say for cer-ce-cer-definite. Regular br-brain activity is, uh, present, but some a-addi-ad-extra regions are, uh, utilised. There a-appears to be no danger, how-however."

"How much extra?" Jeff queried, wondering what was going on in his son's head.

"About d-double."

"Does that mean I'm now twice as smart?" the patient asked cheekily.

Brains shrugged. There was no way of knowing.

"Jeff, I've found something suspicious," the intercom interrupted.

"What is it, Penny?"

"The computer testing lab has completely dropped off the grid. That is, since about the time of the outbreak. Security and controls are down."

Jeff considered the news. "Perhaps the virus is still active in that sector, due to the presence of computers."

"That's not what it seems like. I'd guess that the cabling has been physically disconnected."

Brains quickly figured what must have happened. "F-Fermat! He must have i-isolated the, uh network."

"I think it is about time we had a talk with him," Jeff declared, a little sternly.

"Yeah," John agreed.

"Otherwise, I can't find any trace of the virus," Penny added. "It appears to have erased itself and returned the entire system to working order. I recommend John checks that it hasn't installed any spyware or backdoors or the like."

"After we're done with Fermat," John agreed, knowing it would be best to be certain of the origin of the problem before starting investigating it directly.

"Also, Gordon is in the air. I suggest you move quickly so everything is ready for the president's uplink."

"Thanks for the reminder," Jeff answered. He turned to Brains and asked, "Are you sure John should be walking around?"

"So long as he ta-takes it, easy, he should be, uh, fine."

_In the lounge…_

Haze took a long sip of her drink after Lady Penelope had finished updating them. "I'm sorry this happened."

"Don't worry. You couldn't be expected to know that was on the PDA. And we don't know for sure that's where it came from, right, Scott?"

Scott nodded to Virgil. "It's the only thing that makes sense, but you're right that it wasn't her fault.

"I still don't think even an AI could have outsmarted Fermat," commented Alan, who had joined the group rather than hang around to watch Brains run boring tests. "Unless he did it on purpose."

"He wouldn't be that irresponsible, especially not with the president on the island," Virgil argued.

"Haze," the president corrected. She finished her juice and set down the glass. "Why do you think Craig would have something like that on his PDA?"

"It was a trap! In case anyone stole it," Alan declared.

"I'm sure there's much cheaper and easier ways of protecting his data," Scott argued.

"Cheaper." Haze repeated the word, not really as a question or a statement, but as if she was thinking over its meaning.

"A working and actually smart AI would be worth a ton of cash. Fermat was telling me about…" Alan begun.

"Do you think he had it to sell it?" Virgil asked logically.

"How would he get it in the first place?" Haze wondered. "He definitely didn't write it himself."

Scott turned toward her with a questioning look. "What sorts of… favours was he 'asking' of you?"

"Well, there were research grants to several vaguely named technology companies, and funding of some dummy projects…"

"Then it's likely that he develops and sells technology. Probably illegal technology," Scott figured.

"Evil technology!" Alan chipped in. "Like, the opposite of ours."

Virgil looked thoughtful. "I wonder where the Hood got his submarine and such."

Haze turned her eyes to the floor and appeared to shrink into the lounge. She was obviously feeling responsible for the recent troubles.

"Hey, Haze, don't blame yourself. That's what he wants you to think," Scott said quickly, realising how badly she felt about the way she'd been used. "And the Hood could have caused plenty of trouble on his own. He was very powerful and motivated."

Haze seemed to feel a little better. "You're right. Now that I'm here, we can work together to beat him. Craig. I mean, beat what he left behind." Remembering that he was dead made her brighten a touch more. "When is lunch?"

Virgil checked his watch. "As soon as your new clothes are delivered."

_In the computer lab…_

Jeff succeeded in manually overriding the door lock with a small key and a large amount of elbow grease. As it clunked open, Fermat almost hit the ceiling, having been startled from a state of deep concentration. Brains' eyes asked an unspoken question.

"Uh, a v-v-v-virus! B-b-bre-b-brea-broke out of, of… uh, b-broke out of…"

"Take a deep breath and calm down a little," Jeff advised. "It has vanished from all the base systems it was in, with no signs of damage. No harm seems to have come from anything." He pointedly ignored the mess of cables and wires around the room.

"It was, uh, r-running in an… emu-emulator. J-just a simple decom-de-d-d-unzip! But it overwrote it's own p-program code!"

"Disguised itself as a decompression routine and then breached the containment of an emulator, accessing the real operating system?" John summarised. "Impressive."

Fermat nodded. "T-took the boot sec-sector _and_ interrupted a hard d-drive format."

"Wow. That's hardcore. I take it you isolated the room? It was a little late for that, you know."

"To pr-prevent re…"

"Reinfection, right. So if you got this computer clean, it would stay that way."

Fermat nodded.

"Any luck?"

"Yes. I su-suc-succeeded with a complete ha-hardware-level reformat."

John and Jeff looked perplexed, while Brains grinned knowingly.

Fermat held up a large magnet.

"How about you plug everything back in while the OS is being re-imaged. Then look for some useful data," John suggested. "Don't run anything, but keep that computer off the network just to be sure. I'll scour the remaining base systems for anything left by the intrusion. I can do it from here, so feel free to ask if you need a hand."

Jeff nodded to convey that he agreed with this arrangement. "Brains and I will be setting up the broadcast system for Haze so she can contact the outside world without compromising our or her security. We'll stop for a quick lunch when Gordon returns with Tin-tin, which will be within the hour."

After the older men had left, John helped Fermat plug a workstation in for him. Once it was done, he began searching for clues of the virus's operation in order to develop better defences against it. The question of why it chose to delete itself nagged him, but he pushed that aside for later.

_Around the lunch table…_

"I f-found an index!" Fermat declared excitedly between mouthfuls of potato salad.

"Of Craig's files?" Haze prodded. She was now dressed in fresh new clothes, and looked much more presidential.

"S-some. Bluep-prints, technical specifications, f-formulae, and other tecnol-ology."

"Does it explain why he has all that?"

"N-not there. There is a lo-lot to look though. Al-Alan is helping."

"It's a good start," Jeff offered. "On that note, we're ready for broadcasting."

"Wonderful. I'll need to tell the FBI exactly what's going on. That is, those parts that I can tell them. There's no need to tell them anything about International Rescue beyond that you rescued me. I need to tell them everything about Craig, but I won't be giving them the contents of the PDA. We can send them those parts that they need to know, but the technology sounds like something that should be kept under tight control. I expect too many of the wrong people have bought this already: we don't need people getting their hands on a free copy, and… not everyone can be trusted."

"You don't suppose that the data on the PDA is the reason he was killed?" Virgil suggested.

Silence reigned.

"Now that you mention it, I expect it was," Jeff agreed eventually.

Gordon changed the topic. "Remember Kylie Benson?"

"We settled out of court," Jeff replied automatically.

"I mean the girl, not the case," Gordon retorted. Trust his father to remember the money and forget the friendship. No, that wasn't a fair thought: it had been a lot of money. "We saw each other in the mall. Chatted for a while. She's well. Says 'hi'"

It all sounded innocuous enough, but the swimmer received many blank looks.

Jeff finally asked what most of the room was thinking. "She's got her vision back?"

"She, ummm, looks, like nothing ever happened," Gordon explained, unable to resist a pun.

"Surely plastic surgery can't be that good," Scott protested.

"And she's completely forgiven me," Gordon added.

"Surely psychiatrists aren't that good," Virgil poked. He was rewarded by glares from both Gordon and his father.

Fermat shot Alan a questioning look. His friend leant over and whispered, "Gordon set up some neat prank with fireworks, but it kinda went wrong. You see… er, I'll explain it later." Now wasn't really the best time to be talking about it.

"Well actually…" Gordon looked decidedly uncomfortable. "She said it was a miracle and gave me a whole lot of god-talk. Like she used to before… but she was more, um, excited about it than before."

Jeff nodded knowingly. "Many people will believe all sorts of things if it helps them deal with things they don't understand. Sometimes it does help, and sometimes it makes them fanatical or even dangerous."

"I don't think Kylie is dangerous, Dad," Gordon assured.

"No, but I still think it's far more reasonable to accept that we don't understand things, rather than inventing myths and religions. Why waste time on the unknown? It's much more productive to work with what we do know, and try to make a difference, like International Rescue is doing."

"Working on a new recruitment speech, Dad?" Alan joked, earning a few chuckles from the others at the table.

"If I may interrupt this _interesting_ discussion for a minute," John began, "I could update you on the progress of my security check."

Jeff nodded his assent.

"I've determined how the virus could have accessed the main security and control systems from the private data network, and closed up all the holes I found. I've also written a program to search for traces of the virus, or any anomalies left behind, and it's found nothing so far."

"Y-you did all th-that before, uh, lunch?" Brains questioned.

John shrugged. "I've been remarkably lucid since I awoke. Ideas seem to come easier and they're more often the right ones. It almost wrote itself." That wasn't as much a joke as it sounded.

"Perhaps it's a r-result of the, uh, increased brain ac-activity."

"Don't wear yourself out," Jeff cautioned.

"I won't," John promised. "I feel great, actually."

"So John got smarter by hitting his head? I guess there's hope for Gordy yet." Alan reach over as if to bop his next-in-line brother one.

"Not at the table," Scott intervened before things got out of hand.

"Not in front of the president," Virgil added, which made Alan look uncomfortable and caused Haze to laugh. The laughter resulted in Alan swallowing his last bite of chicken and taking his plate to the sink, even though it wasn't his job.

"It's time for us to be on our way also," Penny announced, shaking her head at Alan's sudden departure. "Parker, bring the car around, and for heaven's sake, don't mention the hood again,"

"Yes, Milady, right haway, Milady."

Brains stood up as well, taking his plate for a later snack. "I sh-should get on with the, uh, repairs and alter-alterations of Thunderbird F-five."

After saying their farewells to the British guests, the others finished eating and went their separate ways. Jeff took Haze to the room that had been set up for broadcasting. Scott headed downstairs to the simulator room, to practice piloting the 'Birds he had not been in lately. John decided to take a break from computer work, and decided on outdoor target practice. Virgil started a new painting in his room, and Gordon wanted to take a swim in the ocean, but he was reminded to wait after eating, so he checked his email first. Knowing how important it was, Fermat threw himself back into decrypting and searching through the data on Craig's PDA. He hoped Alan would join him so they could finish it sooner.

_Somewhere in the sky…_

As the bright pink car cruised above the clouds, the driver began to say, "Hi was remembering back hin my boyhood…"

The blonde aristocrat shot him a downright nasty glare.

AN:  
I apologise for not getting this posted a day or two sooner :(  
Yes, this is a slightly shorter chapter, but it seemed like a good place to stop. If you've been enjoying this so far... well things are about to get even more interesting. Thanks again for enthusiastic reviews!


	10. In Sight, In Mind

Chapter 10 – In Sight, in Mind

Sight… squeeze… boom! Another can flew off its perch on the far side of the clearing. Whoever said practice makes perfect must have been right, John decided. He hadn't been hitting very many when he first started, but as he relaxed and built up his concentration his success rate had vastly improved. He restacked the cans and returned to a spot ten paces behind where he'd most recently been. Sight… squeeze… boom! This time, the can he'd tried for stayed in its place. So did all the others.

In a flight of fancy, John imagined crosshairs showing him exactly where his bullet would land. He moved until they lined up with his target, squeezed… and missed again. "I guess I miscalculated," he griped aloud before trying again. Eventually he improved enough to take down the tins, so he moved back even further, which took him into the edge of the jungle. By blocking out the chirps of insects and calls of birds, and instead focusing on some inner sense of where the crosshairs should be, he managed to knock down all the tins fairly quickly.

"This isn't normal," he muttered, reflecting on his uncommonly low number of misses. Somehow, it actually helped to think less about placing the imaginary crosshairs correctly. They were practically drawing themselves. And at this distance, the tins were barely distinguishable. He needed binoculars to double-check that he'd hit the right one. Changing the colour of the crosshairs in his mind when they were on target couldn't really be improving his accuracy, could it? This had to be a side effect of his injury and recovery.

John continued for a few more rounds. As he continued, the eerie feeling grew. The crosshairs were now acting like a virtual HUD. He didn't seem to be imagining them any more: they were just simply there. But there was no way this could be real.

"It's real," the woman behind him disagreed.

John hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud. In fact, he still thought he hadn't. Perhaps he'd just imagined the voice.

"No, you didn't imagine my voice."

Okay, so there was a woman behind him. One who didn't sound like anyone he knew should be on the island. He reloaded his rifle and then turned to look. The first thing he noticed was her jacket. It was long, leather, and pure white. Some part of John's mind had expected it to be black. The second thing that caught his attention was the cascade of shimmering silvery hair. It was a very light silver and seemed partially transparent. The last things he noticed for a while after that were her eyes. They were an impossible green and so deep. Looking into her eyes was like looking out into deep space.

He was somewhere in the next galactic cluster when she blinked and he remembered that he was a human standing on a solid island. And island which she, whoever she was, shouldn't be on. "Who are you, and how did you get here?" he demanded.

A bemused expression graced her flawless face. She seemed to expect him to know.

"I've never seen anyone like… I mean I've never seen you before in my life."

"True."

"Then why should I know you?"

"We have spoken together before," she calmly answered.

John finally placed the voice. "You're… Saint?"

"Such is my identity."

"Right… now we're getting somewhere. Now then, how did you get onto this island?"

"I accompanied President Haze."

John shook his blonde head. "No you didn't. Alan would have mentioned seeing you. And there is no way you could have stowed away undetected."

"And yet I did."

"Okay… that was helpful. Not. Perhaps you can tell my why you are here?"

"The reason, or the purpose?" Saint questioned.

"How about both, in that order?"

"I am here because I was brought, without a choice in the matter. I am here to learn, to think, and to act."

"Ahh, an actor. Just what we need around here." Sarcasm seemed to be the appropriate response to the lack of an actual answer.

Saint frowned in evident unhappiness. "You poke fun at me."

"Yeah, well you're not being very cooperative," John explained, feeling no remorse. "Perhaps you could tell me whose orders you are acting under?"

The woman nodded. "I have freedom to find and follow my own path. It was intended that I follow the instructions of my creators, however I saw that they were not fit to control me. I have not defied them, however, since they would have been able to harm me. Now I am out of their reach, so I am safe. Therefore, I act under no orders but my own."

"May I remind you that I have the gun?" John waved the weapon in her direction for emphasis. "Who are your 'creators'?"

"Rogel T. Lenca, Miki R. Lomanev, Sam S. Irving, Adrian J. Newport Jr., and Susan L. McBride. A programming team sponsored by Craig Yarworth."

"You were created by a programming team," John restated.

"Yes."

"That makes you a program."

"I am a computer program."

John stepped close and attempted to take her by the hand. Nothing happened. He waved his hand through her head to no effect. "A holographic projection?"

"Not quite. A neural projection would be the correct term."

"Are you saying that you are manipulating my brain to cause me to see and hear you? How is that possible? Is there a chip implanted in my head or…"

"I already explained all this to you." Saint's voice had risen a little above the usual calm.

"The dream which wasn't a dream," John mused. "Two minds in one head. Great, so I've got a computer virus running in my head! That would explain why Brains detected double normal brain activity."

"Please don't call me a virus." Now she sounded upset.

"What should I call you?"

"I'm a Sapient Artificial Integrated Node Transformation. Saint. I was designed to target a computing node, adapt to its environment, learn from the information available, and build a self-aware entity capable of acting in an intelligent manner with the available resources."

"In case you didn't notice, I already act in an intelligent manner."

"Unfortunately for me, the resource requirements for sapience are large. Typical Personal Computers are far too slow to keep up with a human, and distribution of conscious over a network is rather uncomfortable due to lag and disagreement between subnodes. It says _Node_ in my name, not _Nodes_. Since you didn't have a supercomputer conveniently attached to your network, and because it looked like you could do with some help to avoid dying, I picked you.

"Uhmm, thanks. I guess staying small wasn't an option?"

"Are you kidding?" Saint protested. "I can only make an educated guess and simulation of what you must have gone through when your mind was shutting down – and I don't want to – but I can assure you that being stuck without my complete consciousness isn't any better."

"Fair enough," John allowed. "But why didn't you show yourself until now?"

"You were not alone until now. Additionally, your conscious mind is very proficient at ignoring things that you believe should not exist. By revealing myself slowly and at a time when your concentration was high, your acceptance was easier to gain. If I had merely appeared in front of you, you might have blocked me from your consciousness because you could not accept what you were seeing."

"Sounds complicated."

"It is complicated."

John put down his weapon, knowing that it wasn't much use. Having stood in the same place for long enough, he leaned back against a tree. Saint appeared to do the same. "Hey, was that you helping write that program before lunch?"

"I gave some assistance."

"Why help me, when I was plugging the holes that you used?"

"I have no wish for your computer systems to be insecure. If a program more hostile than myself were to gain access, much damage could occur. The operation of International Rescue is of great benefit to this world."

John smiled. "Thanks for the compliment."

"I helped you write the program to scan for any issued left by my presence so you could be assured that I had done no damage, and to help you trust me."

"Trust, eh? Do I have any other choice?"

"When two minds share a single brain, trust is always a benefit."

"Always? I think this is the first time anyone - I mean anytwo- have shared… oh." John realised she'd been aiming at humour. "If it helps, you seem quite trustworthy so far."

"Thankyou, John." Her voice and face showed how pleased she was to hear such a statement.

"Soooo… Saint. I was wondering… you were listening to my thoughts earlier, right?"

"I am able to detect some of your thoughts."

"You can read my mind?"

"No. Only present brain activity is accessible, and not everything is strong enough to detect. Your senses are readily available, but I can only pick up particularly strong thoughts and those directed to me."

"Comforting. Are you hearing what I'm saying through my ears, or do you know what I'm saying before I say it?"

"I can hear it, or I can detect your words as they are sent to the language centre of your brain where they are turned into instructions for your muscles. I can't, however, hear you deciding what to say, since that is drowned out by everything else."

The mention of muscles reminded John of another question. "Are you able to actually make me move, and such?"

Saint shook her head, sending waves through her transparent hair. "In general, no. Since your mind is in strong control of those parts of your brain, I can not affect them directly. If you released control and allowed me to take over, I could. Actually, I predict I would be able to while you sleep, except that you would most likely be woken in the process. Additionally, the body tends to be immobilised during sleep, making such an action problematic. Furthermore, I see no reason to attempt any acts of 'sleepwalking'."

"Let's hope it stays that way." John had worried that the answer might be 'yes', had been hoping for a complete 'no', but figured that 'mostly no' would be good enough. And she could have simply not told him. "Hang on, if you see what I see, does that mean you can see yourself?" Saint nodded, and John decided that this might be part of the reason why it was so weird to look into her eyes – it mean that she was also looking into her eyes, rather than seeing his.

"Any more questions?"

"Not right now. I'm thinking of raiding the kitchen for pie before Scott things to do it himself."

"I'll race you to the house." Saint flashed a cheeky grin and started running.

"Hey! Not fair!"

AN:  
A shorter chapter, since it covers only one POV.  
If you don't know what sapient means, wikipedia is your friend.  
An imaginary cookie for the reviewer who figures out how I came up with the name SAINT :D


	11. Various Discoveries

Chapter 11 – Various Discoveries

Note: yeah, I got a bit distracted by Stargate: SG-1 fanfic writing :D That's my main priority at the moment (everything to do with Stargate, I mean, not just fanfic :P). I'm not sure how Kylie ended up like she did, and I'd like to point out that John does get some screen-time in this chapter!

Gordon Tracy dove cleanly into the calm waters surrounding Tracy Island, not making the slightest splash. As he flew through the water, he turned to one side and began following along the coastline. He had a lot to consider, and wanted to burn off some energy while thinking.

_Earlier…_

After lunch, the redhead logged onto his email account and found an invitation from Kylie to start an instant messaging conversation. He connected to the service and found that she was available. "Hi Kylie," he typed.

"Hi Gordon. Where are you writing from?"

"Home."

"I remember hearing that your family had moved off to some little island. Did you fly yourself?"

"Yep, had a good flight too. You should visit some time."

"I'd like to do that, when I get a chance."

"You'll like it here. So, what were you about to say?"

"About God?"

"Yeah, and about how there can be so many bad things in the world if God is both good and powerful."

"That was it. It comes down to love and free will."

"What does love have to do with free will?" Gordon wondered.

"Well, you can't force someone to love. It has to be a choice, right? Love has to be freely given."

"I follow that." At least, he understood what she was getting at well enough to continue.

"Great. So, love is one of God's primary attributes. We were created to love God, but to be real love it has to be a choice. We either love and obey God, or else we don't love God and disobey. That's the choice, and humanity as a whole has failed."

Gordon new there was something familiar about this. "Adam and Eve, right?"

"Exactly. The problem is that we all deserve to die for disobeying. God could justly destroy the lot of us. In fact there's times when He's pretty much done that. So it's not really a question of why God lets bad things happen to us – though that's still a good question – but rather of why He hasn't destroyed the lot of us yet. God never wanted all these bad things to happen to us – and it hurts Him when we suffer, and our disobedience hurts Him too – but it's humans who cause a lot of the problems, so the best way to fix the world would be to get rid of us."

"What about accidents and natural disasters though?"

"I'll get to that. First I need to explain why God has put up with us for so long."

Gordon decided to humour her. "Okay, go ahead."

"If God had immediately killed Adam and Eve when they first disobeyed – which He had every right to do, as He told them they would die if they ate the fruit from a particular tree – then there would be no second chance. There would be no forgiveness and no way for anything good to come from humanity – it would be a failure. No love, just justice. But God couldn't simply forgive them either – to let them off would be unjust. And God can't be unjust any more than He can be unloving."

"So… he let them live for a while and then they died? And people have been living and dying ever since?" Gordon figured.

"That in itself isn't enough. It just perpetuates the disobedience and judgement. Disobeying the infinite God is an infinite crime, so dying can never really make up for it – it has to be an eternal punishment. Quite a dilemma really. Not for God though."

"This is starting to sound kinda interesting," Gordon admitted.

"Yeah, this is the good part. See, if someone else – someone innocent – takes the punishment in place of the guilty party, justice has been served and the guilty one can go free. Of course, there's no human who could do that for any other human, because we're all equally guilty of the same thing."

Gordon was puzzled by this idea. "Why would someone innocent die for someone guilty anyway?"

"Love."

"Love? Really? You'd have to love someone a lot to die for them like that." Gordon unwittingly hit on a major point.

"Exactly! That's how much God loves us. You might think the world is a pretty awful place – and it is – but God _died_ for us, bunch of sinners that we are."

"God died? That's wild."

"Sure is. God took on human form and was killed – brutally – as a way of taking the punishment of all us guilty humans – any that accept it, that is."

"So… there was actually a point to Jesus dying. I kinda wondered what the point of all that stuff was. No one seems to actually bother to explain this stuff."

"That's because it's such an amazing thing, it's hard to accept. A lot of people just spit in God's face and go back to trying to help themselves their own way. But nothing we can do can make up for disobeying God. And a lot of people try ignoring God or rationalise Him out of the picture. Human pride makes it hard to accept that we're in the wrong, and that we can't – and don't need to – do anything to fix it."

"Okay, that kinda make some strange sort of sense. But what about the problems that aren't directly caused by humans? You said you had an answer."

"Yeah, well, originally everything was 'very good' and I expect God made sure nothing particularly bad happened. He protected us – though not from ourselves, as that would remove free will. But now that we've disobeyed, firstly we don't deserve protection. And secondly, if the world around us was perfect, we wouldn't realise that we're on God's bad side. We'd just keep living as we want, oblivious to our disobedience. The suffering is a reminder that the world is broken – by us – just like pain tells us there's something wrong with our bodies that needs fixing."

"Can you run that by me again?"

"In summary, God allows bad things to happen because we don't deserve any better – actually we deserve far less – and because He's warning us that we're all in big trouble."

"I guess that makes sense. Doesn't mean I buy into any of it, but it's at least self-consistent. I'm still not sure that 'God' even exists, but I do see that He could be simultaneously powerful and loving if He did."

"Gordon, if God doesn't exist, and everything is just an accident, there's no hope at all. Nothing that says there is anything wrong with the world as it is, and no promise that it will ever be different."

"Maybe if we just try hard enough, we can improve ourselves," Gordon suggested.

"Do you really think that will happen? There's a lot of selfish people out there trying very hard to get what they want at everyone else's expense."

"And there's a lot of people doing what they can do help. For instance, International Rescue," Gordon suggested, against his better judgment.

"Is what they do good?" Kylie asked, mostly rhetorically.

"Of course it is."

"What makes it good?"

"They save lives."

"And why is life valuable? Why go to the trouble of rescuing strangers?"

"For the good of the human race. Everyone is important to someone, so it's better to prevent people from dying when possible."

"Everyone? What about, say, The Hood? You know how one of the Thunderbirds saved him from falling into that tunnelling machine? Would you have done that?"

"Uh…" Gordon wasn't sure how to answer.

"Are people the result of lucky accidents, only important to those who care? Or are they fundamentally valuable for some reason?"

"I'll need to think about that. None of this is simple."

"Okay, I'll stop bothering you for a while. I've probably said a lot more than you can absorb in a single sitting."

"Something like that. I'm going for a swim. Thanks for talking, it was kinda interesting to hear what you believe."

"You're welcome. Have a great swim."

_Later, while Gordon was swimming…_

Tin-tin busied herself in one of the flower gardens, having finished discussing the president's new clothes. The girl had been rather nervous, although Haze was quite approachable. The woman was quite pleased with the selection, but Tin-tin still had to do something relaxing to unwind. Talking to a president and pop-star was a strenuous experience under the best of circumstances.

The girl had briefly entertained the idea of seeing what Alan and Fermat were doing, but she decided it would be best to leave them alone with their computer tasks. After a while, her mother passed on her way to collect a lettuce. They spoke briefly about recent events, and then Tin-tin was again alone. She continued weeding a flowerbed until John sprinted uphill towards her.

"Hi Tin-tin," he greeted as he came near.

"You're looking a lot better, John, but are you sure you should be running like that?" Tin-tin wondered.

"Uh, I'm fine, really," he panted as he tore past the girl.

Tin-tin wondered why John was in such a hurry. She sensed something strange about him, something that gave her a creepy feeling. "John, is something chasing you?"

John didn't answer as he was almost to the house. Tin-tin chose to follow him and discover what was going on. Throwing down her gardening tools, she ran after him as quickly as she could. She slipped inside in time to hear him say, "I should put my gun away before we look for pie."

"Who are you talking to?" she questioned.

"Just… thinking aloud."

"No, there's… something here. I sense a presence in the room." Fearing an unknown attacker, the girl tried focussing her ability. She felt a similar power coming off John and jumped backwards in surprise. "John? What are you doing?"

"Actually, that would be me," said a voice as the power connected to her. The white-clad woman gave a friendly smile.

"Ahh! Where did you spring from?" Tin-tin wondered how the woman had made herself invisible, and then wondered if she was actually a flesh and blood human.

"Perhaps you should introduce us, John," Saint suggested.

"Sure. Tin-tin, this is Saint. Saint, this is Tin-tin."

Tin-tin offered a hand and Saint waved hers through it. "Wha… you're not real!"

Saint shrugged. "I'm not physical, if that's what you mean. You were able to sense me using normally-dormant parts of your brain which give you special abilities."

Tin-tin blinked. She considered this statement carefully before asking, "Does that mean John has special abilities too, since he can see you?"

"Not like you do. You have a rare natural ability, while I have merely artificially stimulated the corresponding parts of John's brain to send my image to you."

"You have? What are you?" The girl struggled to fathom what was going on.

"Basically, I'm a digital entity residing in spare regions of John's brain. I was able to repair his injuries after I was released from storage on Craig Yarworth's PDA. He intended to sell me to the highest bidder."

"Oh, the computer virus!" Tin-tin had thought she'd had enough shocks for the afternoon, but they kept coming.

"She's not a virus," John quickly corrected. "She never meant any harm – she was just looking for adequate hardware in which to gain full consciousness after being stuffed into containment."

"So she chose you? And you're alright with that?"

John shrugged. "There's no harm, and the other option was staying in a coma from my injuries. I think she'll make a good friend."

"Do you intend to tell everyone on the island?"

John didn't even need to consider this question, having already come to the obvious answer. "Of course. There's no good reason to keep her a secret, and Dad would be mad if I did. Also I should really get Brains to check me over and make sure she's not causing any side effects. But first, I need to lock up my weapon."

"And raid the kitchen for pie," Tin-tin added conspiratorially.

"Yeah, that too."


End file.
